


In the dark hour I will offer you comfort

by Gwydion



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Consort!Bilbo, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwydion/pseuds/Gwydion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes days are difficult. Sometimes Bilbo's heart is heavy and he feels tired. Sometimes he needs to be alone. But in the end he will always come back to his husband. And in the end, his husband is there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the dark hour I will offer you comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This is my response to all those lovely fics where Bilbo takes care of his tired dwarf after day of his kinging. Just a bit more angst-y.

He was tired. His body felt heavy. He fled the kitchens unable to stand the sounds of clattering dishes. Silence. He craved for silence. For calm. Some place he could be alone. To smoke his pipe, drink his tea and to be. To breathe. So his heart doesn't feel so heavy. So the irritation flooding him for days now would go away.  
The preassure at his temples was unyielding. The corridors were full with dwarwes. Loud talking, loud laughing, big gestures and booming voices. Dwarves. And now he just couldn't stand it. He was suffocating. The mountain felt too small and too big in the same time and his chest felt so heavy, he wanted to scream and... no. No. He knew this. He blinked to avoid any tears falling down. Were they angry? Sad? Frustrated? They felt heavy, he couldn't say more. He took a deep breath. Exhale. Keep walking. Just go.

He hoped their rooms would be empty. This mood made him... able to hurt. Physically, mentally, irrationally. Himself mostly, but he wasn't willing to try. Sometimes he scratched his face, nails marking his face but those red lines always vanished quickly. And he would never do anything more. The part of his reason, always detached even in times of panic or sadness, never let him do anything more.  
"It will improve and you know it. Just couple hard days," his reason would say. And he would hold on that thought for another days to get through. It worked, somehow. He was still there, wasn't he? So he knew what to do with this mood. He knew that sometimes... sometimes it was all too much. The good, the bad, it didn't matter. Too much for too long.  
Their rooms were indeed empty and he felt a bit relived. He wouldn't stand any company now. He needed to breathe. Breathe. He needed to get out. His resolution made the exhaustion fade a bit. Finding his fur coat, removing his circlet and picking up his pipe. He left the bedroom as quickly as possible.

He forbade his guard to follow him there. Maybe more strictly than necessary but he couldn't bring himself to care. The ledge was safe. Even in winter. Even for him. Even now.  
He stepped out and snow crunched under his feet. The coldness grounded him a bit. He took a deep breath again. He felt his chest stretch and the fresh air flooded his lungs. It felt like relief, relief, relief. Closing his eyes for a moment he enjoyed the feeling. His tense shoulders slowly relaxed and he kept breathing. No, this wasn't time for smoking. He put the pipe into his pocket, opening his eyes again to look up at the sky. Stars were shining bright and there were no clouds casting shadows on the snow-covered land. The fires of Dale made something warm stir inside him as if he was standing right there. Drop by drop, he could feel the irritation receding. He had no idea how long he was standing there, listening to the silent night. The dark mood faded away a bit and he started to feel hollow. Tired. Oh, so tired. The exhaustion attacked him with vengeance and he slowly turned away from the view that offered him so much comfort. Last deep breath. Exhale. Go home.

The walk back felt longer and shorter than before. His feet were bit numb from the cold and his shoulders again felt as if he was carrying a dragon treasure on it. But suddenly he was there, the door waiting and inviting. Open it. Come in. Look for... his husband. Sitting in front of the fireplace, not sleeping like last few days. His blue blue eyes sliding from the document in his hand on the hobbit. He stood there, suddenly unable to move anymore. Neither of them spoke. But the King put the scroll away and rose from his seat. He watched him coming closer, his expression - what was it really? Exasperation? No. Fondness? No, not that. His own tiredness?  
"Love," Thorin breathed into his ear. "Allow me."  
Yes, love.  
He let Thorin take away his cloak. His husband's hands carressed him as if he was some precious jewel, taking away his clothing. He closed his eyes and kept them shut even when he was guided into bathroom.  
"Wait for me."  
He heard the soft rustling of Thorin's clothes as his husband undressed himself. The bathroom was warm and the air faintly smelled of roses. The elven present was in use today, then.  
Calloused hand took the softer one and they both descended into the bath.  
He was leaning on his husband's chest and listened to Thorin's gentle humming. The hollowness of his heart was being filled with a completely different emotion.  
It was certain that Thorin wouldn't ask. He didn't need to. He would leave him be, leave him... just exist. But at night, he would always come and take care of him. Without words, with loving touches and yet they never lingered. They both knew that it wouldn't work. That tonight and any night like this, he was too fragile. The darkness too close and not to be defeated by passion.

He must have dozed off because he was suddenly sitting in his armchair in his old dressing gown. Cup of tea was pressed into his hand and he looked up and met Thorin's eyes. Little smile played on his lips and the hobbit gave him one tired little smile of his own. He sipped the warm liquid for a while but couldn't finish it. No, no more tea tonight. Sleep.  
He put the cup away and slowly walked to their bed. He was naked under his robe but he didn't care. The blankets, always blankets in hobbit's bed, were waiting for him. He slipped into the bed, covering himself with a thick duvet and finally closed his eyes. Few moments later he could feel the bed dip a bit when his husband joined him. There was a space between them and he loved his King all the more for it. He closed the distance and snuggled against Thorin's form. Strog arm enveloped him in embrace. And only then the sleep finally took him. Exhausted. Deep. Calm.

**Author's Note:**

> Bilbo was alone for quite some time. Even though he obviously enjoys company and the Company, he's still an introvert. And sometimes living in a mountain with hundreds of dwarrows takes its toll. And maybe, just maybe it has something to do with that nice little golden trinket. Or not.


End file.
